Weather, Or Not by Ian Lewis Copestick

Brit Grit, Ian Copestick, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine
It’s a grim,
grey rainy night
water running
in the gutters.
At six p.m., it’s
starting to go
dark and the
day is winding
down. I can’t
wait for a couple
of months to go
by, and for the
nights to become
lighter and for the
sun to begin to
shine. Anyone
who says that
the weather, or
has nothing to
do with a person’s
mood or mental
health is either a
fool or a liar.
I wrote a poem
a few years ago
saying that I’d
prefer to
live in England,
with it’s four
seasons than to
live in L.A. with
it’s continual
sunshine. God
knows, I must
have been out
of my mind.
When nine months
out of twelve
are painful to
live in, you must
be a fool to stay
there, if you
have the money
to leave.